Ode to Sleep
by cathartic
Summary: Sam realizes his hallucinations of Lucifer are real, Dean thinks his brother is insane, and Lucifer is freed from the cage a second time. (Hallucifer fic. Samifer.)


_Ode to Sleep_

* * *

 **Day 1**

" _Sammy_."

Sam sat upright in the motel room bed, breathing fast, eyes wide open.

His hallucination of Lucifer laid beside him with his head propped up casually on one hand. He was running his fingers along the duvet with a smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry, were you sleeping?"

 _Shut up._ Sam flexed his jaw and resisted the urge to answer. Dean was asleep on the motel's couch, snoring obnoxiously.

"I'm not sure how you could have been," the blond said dryly as he glanced over at the eldest Winchester. "Besides, it's been a while since we talked."

It was a musty, small hotel room somewhere in Iowa. The streetlights outside were shining dimly in through the busted blinds.

Sam got to his feet and tried to brush past the hallucination when it reappeared in front of him—only to bump into the angel's solid shoulder, as if he were real.

Chills ran up his side from the touch and he moved quietly into the motel bathroom, shutting the heavy duty door behind him and turning on the light.

He turned on the faucet and splashed his face a couple times. He looked up into the mirror, and flinched at the sight of the devil standing behind him. He turned off the water.

"Leave me alone, I just need sleep," Sam said quietly into the room, just over the sound of the buzzing heater. He bowed his head and closed his eyes as his vision began to swim.

"I know you need sleep."

The devil's voice had changed, and Sam looked up at the reflection with tired green eyes. His forehead wrinkled. "Can't you just talk to me in the morning?" He was bargaining with his hallucination. The sleep deprivation was getting to him.

"You don't get it, do you Sam?"

Sam shook his head tiredly.

"You can call me a hallucination all you want. And maybe I'm in your head, sure," the devil said with a smile as he closed the distance between them and planted a hand on either of Sam's shoulders, startling him from where he slouched over the sink. "But it's still me, Sam. And when all of your organs fail, you'll come back to me. I've waited. I've been patient. I tried to talk you into going out the easy way, once," the arch angel rolled his eyes sideways and shrugged one shoulder slightly. "But you wanted to do it the hard way, so here we are." The hands squeezed Sam's shoulders.

Sam laughed brokenly and shook his head, eyes pinching closed again forcefully. "No, you aren't real. You aren't."

"Oh Sammy, keep saying it and maybe it'll come true." The hands slid off his shoulder and wrapped around his waist, a chin settling on to his shoulder. Sam's eyes opened wide involuntarily, his breath catching. He shook off the blond's hold and spun around to face him.

He was gone. Sam exhaled. He gasped for breath and slid down to the floor, his back against the bathroom cabinet.

He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead against them, breath still coming out shaky and erratic as he fought a laugh and felt uncomfortable heat swell in his stomach. Guilty, confused, and so tired. He wrapped his arms around his legs. He pushed back memories that surfaced in waves, trying to keep them behind the crumbled wall in his mind.

Coffee couldn't fix this. Dean was going to notice.

He was _falling._

 _Down into the pit, a billion miles down, the air ripped from your chest and your eardrums rupturing, the sounds of the higher levels of hell; the screams of torture victims, the sound of wings beating._

 _Total darkness._ He opened his eyes again, just to see the inside of the motel room bathroom. Light. Life. He breathed.

He couldn't go back there.

"I'm lonely."

The voice startled Sam sideways onto the cold tile flooring of the bathroom, and he stared wildly up at Lucifer who was looking down at him with a pouty, face-wrinkling expression.

"You know how it is down here, Sam. I miss you."

"I'm sorry," Sam said in a gasping voice. And then he shook his head. "I-"

"Sam?"

The abrasive, tired voice of his brother came in through the bottom of the door.

Sam blinked. His hallucination vanished. He messily pulled himself to his feet and opened the bathroom door to see his older brother, rubbing one eye with his knuckles with a grumpy expression.

"What are you doing in there? Are you okay?" Dean asked gruffly, glancing around his brother to peer into the bathroom suspiciously.

"Uh, yeah, just uh, taking a leak," Sam said hurriedly.

Dean blinked, a tired frown in place. "You always apologize to the toilet?"

Sam laughed nervously and sidestepped his brother to make his way toward his bed. A hand grabbed him by his forearm and he stopped short with a tired sigh.

"Dean—"

"He isn't real, Sam. Why are you saying sorry?"

Sam froze up, his shoulders tensing and lifting as he pulled his arm away from his brother's grasp. "I was talking to myself, all right? I'm tired. That's all."

"You mean you're not seeing Satan?"

Lucifer appeared on his bed, sprawled out with a smile. He patted the side closest to Sam welcomingly, eyebrows raised.

Sam sighed and turned to face Dean, his back to the hallucination. "Yeah. I am. But not all the time, and I'm dealing with it."

"Dealing with it by throwing yourself at the bathroom wall at three in the fricking morning? Yeah, my ass."

Sam's shoulders fell and his forehead wrinkled. "I'm just tired, Dean," he said in a defeated voice.

"Aww, poor thing," Lucifer cooed. "Come on Sam, let's snuggle." He patted the bed loudly.

Sam jumped. Dean reached out a hand to grab his shoulder gently. "Sam, I think we should find somebody—"

"Like who?" Sam asked snappishly.

"I don't know, like, like a doctor," Dean replied with a tired expression, and Sam felt guilty. "Or a psychic. Hell, anyone you want to see, Sam, let's just do something about this."

"Oh, I love shrinks. We should go Sam. It'd be fun. Free drugs!" Lucifer interjected and rolled on to his back, lacing his fingers together and resting his hands on his chest.

"Yeah so they can stuff me full of pills? It won't do anything," Sam said bitterly.

"It might," Dean said hopefully. "Maybe knock you out, at least. Let you sleep."

Sam exhaled heavily and moved toward his bed, gritting his teeth and ignoring the way his hallucination made room for him with a smile and laid his head on the other pillow. He stopped and glanced back at his brother.

Dean crossed the room slowly and sat on his own bed, his eyes lidding slightly in exhaustion. "Sam? You with me?"

"They'd lock me up. We have to work on stopping Dick," Sam replied.

"Do you think he chose that vessel just for the comic relief of his name?" Lucifer wondered aloud. "I mean, it is pretty funny."

Sam refused to make eye contact with the blond hallucination and pulled back his blanket roughly to climb into the bed. He laid down with an indignant expression, and awkwardly turned away from the hallucination to face his brother. He tensed as he felt him— _it_ , because hallucinations don't have genders—tug at the back of his hair like a little kid.

"We don't have any leads on Dick Roman and I'm worried about you. You aren't much help with Satan on your shoulder."

Lucifer spooned Sam at the mention, his chin resting literally on the brunet's shoulder, his scruffy facial hair rough against his cheek. Sam breathed heavily and tried not to move.

 _It wasn't real._

"Okay," Sam said finally, his voice quiet. "You're right. Okay."

Dean blinked, and fell on to his own bed with a surprised, still tired expression. "Really?" he asked incredulously.

Lucifer chuckled, the motion shaking against Sam's back in a way that made Sam's chest feel tight and warm. He clenched his hands into fists.

"Yeah. Let's see if they can knock me out. Find out what does it, clock me out, steal whatever drugs work and hit the road. Tomorrow morning."

Dean paused. "Okay, sounds like a plan." he said, and leaned over the nightstand to turn off the table lamp that had been lighting the room just slightly. "Night, Sammy." He still sounded disturbed by his brother's compliance.

Sam closed his eyes and tried to ignore the tremor of fear he felt at the sudden dark. He couldn't face the light coming in from the busted blinds, because he could still feel Lucifer lying next to him. A laugh filled the room, and a hand skated down his chest. He quietly grabbed it by the wrist, and exhaled shakily.

"Sam?" Dean's voice cut into the dark.

"Not in front of big brother?" Lucifer asked playfully, allowing his hand to be moved away. "Aw, you're no fun."

"Night Dean," Sam croaked, and rolled over on to his stomach to bury his face in the pillow. He could feel lips against his neck.

"Ah-ah, you can't sleep yet," Lucifer whispered against his skin. "Sam, we haven't even read bedtime stories."

Sam bit his tongue to resist the urge to respond, and flexed his hands in and out of fists under his pillow.

"Once upon a time there was a naughty vessel named Sammy—"

* * *

 **Day 2**

Sam blinked heavy eyes at the ceiling as Lucifer hummed a cheery tune next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder in bed.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, trying to let the noise lull him to sleep.

"Rise and shine with the beautiful morning star, Sammy," Lucifer cooed, tapping his nose and startling his eyes open again.

Sunlight was reaching in and birds were starting to sing. He hadn't slept at all.

 _Dammit._

Dean's alarm went off, music blasting too loud for Sam to appreciate, and the dirty blond rolled around tiredly in bed for a moment before shutting it off, and stretching with an exaggerated yawn.

"Sam? You up already?" he asked through his yawn, his arms falling slack as he rolled his shoulders.

"Yep."

His brother paused and looked at him, his expression worried and intense. "Did you sleep at all?"

Lucifer smiled and blew at Sam's bangs that were falling in his face.

"No," Sam said hoarsely. He rubbed at the scar on his hand.

"Don't do that," his hallucination said scoldingly. "It's just offensive."

Dean watched the hand motion. "Is he here right now?"

Lucifer grinned and slid an arm around Sam, cuddling against him as he grimaced and resisted the urge to leap out of bed away from the hallucination. If he started trying to run away from a figment of his imagination, he really _was_ crazy. Even though it felt like the devil was spooning him—he wasn't.

"Yep," he replied in a roughened voice, pinching his eyes closed for a second.

"Where?" Dean looked around, as if he could see, as he climbed out of his bed.

Lucifer started to nibble at Sam's jawline and with an alarmed exhale Sam threw himself out of bed and on to the carpeted floor in a dramatic motion, chest heaving like he'd run a mile.

Dean paused and stared down at his brother with a startled, disconcerted look.

"Let's get you those meds," he said as his little brother looked up at him with a terrified expression.

Lucifer laughed happily and rolled on to his back on the bed. "Sam you're so sensitive."

"Yeah," Sam croaked, pulling himself to his feet. "Let's go, I guess."

"Get dressed, you look like you just ate a frozen hot pocket."

Sam puzzled, and Dean raised both eyebrows.

"It's bad. You don't even want to know," his older brother elaborated with a shudder.

Sam laughed weakly and ignored the sound of footsteps that followed him into the bathroom. "I'll be ready in five," he said, his voice sounding better than he felt.

He pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it on to the floor. He refused to look in the mirror, but could see movement in his peripheral.

"Oh Sam, you're so forward," the archangel cooed dryly.

Sam breathed heavily and ground his teeth together as he stripped down to his boxers. He could shower in boxers. Whatever. He wasn't getting naked. He turned on the icy motel shower and waited, hoping the water would heat up.

"Come on Sam, I'm in your head remember? I'm not _real_ —why so modest?"

He got in the shower after the water warmed slightly, and started to shave his face. The hallucination vanished. He exhaled shakily, and kept his boxers on just in case.

He started to wash his hair when he felt it again. He spun around, almost slipping on the wet shower floor, and lifted his tense shoulders at the sudden sight and proximity of his hallucination in the hot shower.

"Steamy in here, isn't it?" Lucifer asked with a playful wink, still fully clothed and not getting wet.

Because he _wasn't_ real. _He wasn't._

He drew a heart with his finger on the steamed shower's glass wall, writing 'L + S' in cursive in the center.

Sam groaned and rubbed the heart out with his hand. He started to rinse the shampoo out of his hair, head tilted back and eyes closed.

"Aw, that hurts my feelings."

"Sam hurry up, Frank said—"

"I'm coming!" Sam yelled, turning off the water and shaking his hair.

"Do you know how dark it is?"

Sam stopped with his hand on his towel and exhaled. He didn't look back. He didn't answer.

"There's _nothing_. At least, through you, I can see. When you were here, Sam—"

Sam grabbed his hand and pushed into the scar until it hurt, he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.

"Oh stop it. You wanted me here. You invited me."

"I don't want you here. Go away," Sam said hoarsely, just quiet enough so Dean wouldn't hear, and pulled the towel off the rack and wrapped it around his waist.

"That's not how permission works—no takes-backsies."

Sam sighed, an exhaustion headache beginning to pound at his temples as he stepped out of the shower and got dressed.

Lucifer vanished, and it felt uncomfortably quiet.

He told himself it wasn't uncomfortable.

* * *

"Okay Sammy? Been awfully quiet," Dean asked as he loosened his tense grip on the steering wheel and leaned back against his headrest. The quiet hum of the engine and the wheels turning against the road filled the silence.

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine," Sam said. "Just tired."

"Could you sleep right now if you tried?"

"Nope," he laughed a little and resisted the urge to close his eyes and drift. It would only call the hallucination back.

"Well this guy's a friend—a friend of Bobby's. And Frank. He has all the good stuff, we'll get you some Xanax or something and you'll be right as rain."

Sam grimaced at the thought and sank into his seat. "Okay, where is this guy?"

"Just a few miles away actually," Dean said as he slowed down and pulled off an exit. "Hang in there."

Sam felt his eyes involuntarily slip closed from the lull of the car's motion. Images began to play behind closed lids.

"Sammy," a scolding voice jolted him awake and Dean glanced over at him in alarm. Sam exhaled, chest heaving as his breathing rate returned to normal.

"That's better. The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round..."

Sam groaned and smacked the back of his head against the headrest.

Dean shook his head and scowled at the road, pressing down on the gas pedal.

"You know these medications aren't going to work, right? I'm inside you," Lucifer said with a suggestive, lazy smile, from where he sat in the back seat with his legs kicked up on the middle console.

 _Shut up, shut up, shut up._ Sam bit his tongue to keep the thoughts inside.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, see, I can do it too. It's not very nice, is it?"

Sam groaned and folded his torso forward, planting his face into his hands.

Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white. He hated feeling useless when it came to his brother.

"There it is. Okay Sam, let's get you drugged up."

* * *

"Won't this many hurt me?" Sam asked unsurely as he swallowed another pill, heavy eyes turned up toward the hunter who was—somehow—still a practicing physician.

"Not sleeping _will_ kill you, so let's take our chances," the brunet doctor replied brusquely, sitting down across from Sam with a contemplative expression behind his beard. "How do you feel?"

Lucifer sat on the counter behind the doctor with one ankle crossed over the other. "Yeah Sammy, how do you _feel_?" he asked into a megaphone, pressing the button a few extra times for good measure. He smiled.

Sam laughed with a pained expression.

"Not good then. Okay. Worse?" the middle-aged hunter persisted. Dean had been kicked out to get Sam lunch, as per the doctor's orders.

"Uh, the same. He—the hallucinations—seem more uh, aggressive."

The doctor set his jaw and nodded. "Okay. You want to try an antipsychotic?"

"Psychotic? How rude," Lucifer drawled.

"Sure, just give me something," Sam said desperately, eyes hollow.

* * *

It was black.

The last thing Sam could remember was falling over, against the wall. The doctor shaking him, calling his name. His vision had fizzled out in spots.

He was on the ground, and it was entirely dark, despite his eyes being open. It was growing colder, numbing his legs. He got to his feet to try to keep his blood circulating. It was hard to balance in blindness. He was going to freeze to death. He couldn't _breathe_ , it was so heavy on his chest, he was going to suffocate.

"Sam."

The doctor? No. It wasn't him.

"Sam."

He swayed, dizzy and with no sight to help him stabilize himself. He grasped at the open air around himself.

"Hey." A hand steadied him by the shoulder. Warmth spread from the touch and into his torso. He gasped for breath, suddenly feeling less like a fish out of water.

" _Look at me_."

Like that, he could see. Just barely.

Lucifer. A surprised look was on the angel's face as he held the hunter still.

"Well, this was unexpected, huh?" he asked curiously, head tilting on its side.

Sam shoved him off half-heartedly and choked out a laugh. There was nothing funny about the cage. Mind-numbing cold flooded him again, and it was still so dark. He turned around and walked away. He hit an invisible wall of darkness, and fell.

Falling, twisting, turning, the air ripped from his lungs again. There was no floor. He couldn't yell because there was no air. Hot flashes then chills. Pinpricks and electric shocks through his nerves. A warm body wrapped around him, and then slowly he touched the ground again, chest heaving, vision spinning.

"Calm down, Sam. We're still in your head," the angel said quietly against the hunter's earlobe. Sam froze up, his hands digging into the angel's forearm as he grasped for a sense of stability. "Breathe. You will die."

He breathed, the action painful. He was sitting on the floor. Lucifer was still wrapped around him, holding him still. He was tremoring. It wasn't as cold anymore.

"Maybe no more drugs to the party, hm?" the angel asked, exhaling into his hair.

Sam nodded vaguely, and laughed. "This is me, isn't it? It isn't you. This is all me."

"What do you think?" Lucifer asked unhelpfully, his invisible wings shielding them both from the frostbite-inducing cold.

"I don't know," Sam said hopelessly. He buried his head into the archangel's shoulder, eyes scrunching closed. He didn't care anymore, he just didn't want to be alone. He wasn't sure if he was remembering, hallucinating, or dreaming. Maybe all three.

The pit could swallow you and spit you out a million times. Tear you apart, freeze your pieces, then put you back together.

His pride wasn't worth being alone.

"I'm sorry," Sam said hoarsely. His memories were vague, the ones that slid past the wall. He remembered Michael, he remembered the crushing energy, and the cold. The darkness. He wasn't sure where Michael had gone. Disappeared one day, or gave up.

The torture had ended eventually. He was never really sure who was using his soul as a punching bag, just that one day it stopped altogether. It didn't help. It didn't matter anyway.

No one deserved to be alone in the pit. It _burned_.

"Why is it so cold?" Sam asked finally when he felt his lips going numb. The angel shifted, and he felt warmer again. "So cold," he repeated, just to feel his mouth move. To remember he existed. It was easy to slip away down here. Down there. Was this real?

"Because that's how it was created," Lucifer answered, as if it was simple.

"Is this real?"

"Of course it's real."

Sam choked and staggered to his feet shakily. Lucifer stood with him, and he wandered forward a few hazy steps.

Endless darkness stretched before him. Nothing. At least there was solid ground beneath his feet.

"I miss you," Lucifer reiterated his sentiment from earlier. "I don't want to be down here."

"I know," Sam said, grinding his teeth together and closing his eyes. It was easy to forget to blink in the total darkness. "I don't want to go back."

"So come get me."

There was a moment of silence, and it felt like reality melted away. No breathing, no light, no movement. Nothing. The sensation of gravity left him.

"How?" he asked finally, and hoped the angel would answer. Real or not, he didn't want to be alone.

"You're smart. Figure it out." The voice drew closer, and lips pressed against his numb ear, warm. Sam sighed in shaking, reluctant relief. "I'll make you a deal."

"What deal?" he asked, turning to face the blond whom he could barely see. Or maybe he couldn't see him. Maybe it just felt like he could.

He felt a hand run into his hair, toying it between fingertips, and he tensed.

"You come get me out of here, and I leave you alone... let you sleep. And I get rid of that pesky Dick Roman. Deal?"

Sam froze. "Are you real?"

"Of course I'm real."

"And then you'll destroy the world, right?" Sam asked bitterly.

"Well." Lucifer's laugh warmed the space around them. "I didn't mention that, but you can handle whatever happens next. Right? It's that or you die, Sam. Get stuck down here with me. Forever." The hand in his air knotted and pulled him closer, tugging at the roots. "Good luck getting Death to save you again, sweetheart."

Sam scowled and stepped back. He felt his heels dip over a cliff and stepped forward to avoid another fall. He exhaled heavily. "You can stop the leviathans?"

"That is how deals work, Sammy. I can't offer what I can't deliver. Are you in?"

Sam looked up at the dark. Left and right, into the dark. Below, at the dark ground. The cold blazed around him like a fire. He could feel pressure beginning to crush his chest, and he stepped closer to where the angel had been.

Empty space.

Panic flooded him. "Lucifer?" he called out hoarsely.

There was a beat of silence and Sam shrunk to the ground, shaking violently as the cold set in.

"Lucifer," he repeated quietly, knowing the archangel could hear him. Wherever he was.

 _Son of a bitch._

He got back to his feet and wandered forward aimlessly a couple steps, searching. " _Lucifer_. I—dammit, I'll do it. You have a deal," he said.

Suddenly he was warm, and a hand brushed the back of his neck, a thumb resting against his pulse. He swallowed shakily, green eyes widening.

"Yeah?"

The responding voice was hoarse, and just a little too human as the hand tugged him closer, emotions buzzing unbidden in Sam's chest in response.

"Yes," Sam said, wetting cracked lips. "I promise."

Lucifer hummed as he moved closer, a thumb tracing circles on his neck, soft puffs of warm breath accompanying the motion. "Then I'll see you soon."

Sam nodded shakily, the motion interrupted as lips pressed against his, softly at first, then more aggressively.

The kiss ended as abruptly as it had began and Sam felt his heart trying to beat its way out of his rib cage. He wasn't even sure if it had been beating until then.

"You have to uh, seal it like that?" he asked, a little out of breath.

Lucifer smiled, and he wasn't sure if he saw it or sensed it, in the endless dark. "I'm not a demon, Sam."

Sam choked out a laugh, and then he saw the image of Lucifer waver.

He fell over, and he was unconscious.

* * *

 **Day ?**

"Sammy?"

When Sam opened his eyes again he was in a hospital bed with an IV stuck in his arm. He tried to sit up but was gently pushed back down by his brother, who looked like he might cry, or had been crying.

"Dean?" He tested his voice, and it was weak and painful. He noticed one of his hands was handcuffed to the metal hospital bed, and looked up at his older brother, puzzled.

"Jesus, Sammy, don't ever do that to me again," Dean said through a tight throat. He squeezed his younger brother's unbound hand, which was heavily bandaged.

"What happened to me?" Sam asked, blinking aching eyes at the lights in the room, which seemed obnoxiously bright.

"You went into a coma. Hit your head, and starting digging into that scar on your hand. We kept stitching you up and you kept digging it back open. I thought I'd lost you Sam—I'm sorry. This is my fault."

Sam laughed weakly, and offered his brother a tired smile. "It's okay, Dean. I'm okay."

* * *

 **Discontinued on here, but the story continues on Archive of Our Own under my pen-name, Sedated.**


End file.
